


because your kiss, your kiss is on my list (your kiss, i can't resist)

by StoriesofmyLife



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: 80's culture, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Brace yourselves, Daniel and Johnny kissing across 34 years, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Kissing Prompts, M/M, Rivalry, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teen Lawrusso, Teenagers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, lawrusso, we're going all over the map yall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 22:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesofmyLife/pseuds/StoriesofmyLife
Summary: Where Johnny and Daniel kiss, a lot (and in a lot of different ways)or--50 different types of kisses Johnny and Daniel share, over 34 years, in no particular or related order.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso & Johnny Lawrence, Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Johnny Lawrence/Ali Mills (mentioned), Past Daniel LaRusso/Amanda LaRusso
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	because your kiss, your kiss is on my list (your kiss, i can't resist)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lovelies! 
> 
> First of all, I want to apologize for my long, unplanned absence. I've been going through a lot in my personal life and I'm trying to make some changes in order to feel better about my life, my journey and my over all mental health. Unfortunately, my writing had to take a backseat to this and while I'd love to say that I'm back, I'm not putting any pressure on myself to update. 
> 
> However, I've been wanting to do this fic for a long time, ever since I started in this fandom, I just never got around to it. If you guys have ever read my other stuff, you'll notice that I've done a few of these for the Top Gun fandom and I also have an ongoing fic over in the marvel fandom for all my Bucky/Peter Stans out there (and it will probably get updated soon because the Falcon and Winter Soldier comes out on Friday and I'm Not Prepared)
> 
> These prompts are so fun and they're inspired by a list of prompts on tumblr that I'll link down below. They are in no way shape or form linked together, so you can read these as a series of unrelated one shots and I plan on jumping all over the timeline, from Teen LawRusso to Adult LawRusso. The point of these is just to have fun and keep my LawRusso inspiration flowing. 
> 
> This first one is dedicated to writeyourownlifestory, who I sent the list to first and this what she wanted so, here's to you. Happy (belated) Birthday to one of my dearest friends in this wonderful fandom. You keep me inspired every day and while this isn't the fic that I owe, I hope it holds you over until then. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> PS. This unbeta'd so please excuse any mistakes :)

_42). Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead._

*

Daniel can feel a headache blooming, sharp and throbbing, behind his eyes the longer he stares at his computer screen. He’s been looking at the screen for so long that numbers have stopped making sense, words are no longer computing in his brain and he swears, when he actually looks away from the monitor, the warm beige walls of his office have the same eerie blue glow emitting from his computer screen. 

He takes a second to close his eyes, leaning back in his office chair, stretching his neck and shoulders to work out the kinks in the strained muscles. He groans in satisfaction when he feels his joints shift and pop back into place, settling back into the soft cushions of his ridiculously expensive leather office chair—a frivolous business expense that comes in handy on days like this, when he has to spend long hours locked away in his office, looking through sales reports and invoices from the service department, going through the business accounts, all to avoid an audit at the end of the year from the IRS. 

It’s something that Amanda always insisted was unnecessary, back when they were married.

“This is what we pay an accountant for, Daniel,” She’d say. “I don’t understand why you put yourself through this every year when we literally have someone on retainer to do it for us.” 

“I know, I know,” He’d respond. “I just like to make sure everything is okay myself before I hand everything over to a perfect stranger. It’s our reputation on the line, after all.” 

“I think you just have control issues,” Amanda had teased.

“I prefer to think of it as being thorough,” He had countered, stubborn as ever.

And maybe in a way, Amanda was right—Daniel likes to think that he’s self-aware enough to know that he might have a teeny, tiny bit of a control issue—but it’s more than that, deeper than that. Amanda didn’t know what it was like to fail at something. To take a dream and build it from the ground up, just to watch it crumble right before your eyes. Amanda didn’t understand what it was like to come from nothing and struggle for everything. 

The dealership might be their business, but it had been Daniel’s dream ever since Mr. Miyagi handed him the keys to the Super De Luxe. 

And even after sixteen years and several successful expansions later, he still wakes up in a cold sweat, terrified at the thought of it all being yanked away from him. 

(Daniel is also self-aware enough to realize that he has some deep seated issues that a licensed professional would take great joy in unpacking, but that’s a thought for another day).

He can admit, though, that there’s a part of him that wants to just say screw it and hand it over to Roger, the accountant he’s been using for years (and hardly a stranger), and be done with it. But he’s already invested this much time into it, he might as well see it through to the end. 

With a sigh, he sits upright in the chair and gets back to the sales reports, tapping his pen absently against his cherrywood desk to the beat of the Bananarama song that’s been stuck in his head all day. 

He’s gotten all the way to the chorus and half way through the last sales report when his phone trills, loudly, disrupting his otherwise quiet office. 

Daniel jumps, startled, frowning down at the offensive device where it rests at his elbow, where it’s remained, untouched, for the most of the day. 

He’s tempted to ignore it and get back to his own personal audit, but it could be one of the kids trying to reach him and that’s enough for him to switch gears from work mode to dad mode. 

He reaches for it, just in time for it to ring, KISS’s Everytime I Look At You playing at full volume—something Johnny has verbally protested, very loudly, ever since he found out that’s what played whenever he called Daniel— _KISS is just a knock off Twisted Sister and you know it, LaRusso. Paul Stanley wishes he could rock as hard as Dee Snider_ —the screen lighting up with a picture Daniel sneakily took of Johnny a few weeks ago, when they were at the beach with the kids in an attempt to do inner dojo bonding. Johnny’s mid laugh, blue eyes crinkled at the edges, blonde hair tousled in the sea breeze. He’s looking right at the camera and he’d been embarrassed as soon as he realized Daniel had snapped the picture. 

Despite himself, Daniel feels a smile pull at the edges of his lips when he answers the call. 

“Hey,” Daniel greets. 

“So you do know how to use your phone,” is what he gets in return. “Good to know.”

“Aw, Johnny, did you miss me?” 

Johnny snorts. “Yeah, like my last bout of the Clap.”

“You’re disgusting,” Daniel says and he wonders if Johnny picks up on the embarrassing amount of fondness in his voice. 

“Yeah, so you’ve said,” Johnny says and Daniel can just hear the self satisfied grin, so he guesses he noticed. “Are you still at the dealership?”

Daniel sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, I’m still here,” and looking over the amount of paperwork he still has to sift through, he adds, forlorn, “And I’m probably going to be here for a while.”

“How much longer is ‘a while’?” Johnny asks. 

Daniel rubs his forehead, trying to fight down the stab of irritation that prickles in his chest. “I don’t know, John,” He sighs, pushing a stray file of invoices away from his keyboard. His desk is a mess. “I still have a bunch of stuff to go through before I hand this stuff over to the accountant on Friday and then I need to look over those insurance forms for the dojo and the application for the All Valley to fill out—“ He blows out a breath. “—a few hours, maybe. Why? You got a hot date or something?”

Johnny snorts. “Yeah, I finally took that hot blonde that I used to sublet the dojo to up on her offer for private yoga lessons. She’s coming over later to teach me the downward dog—” Daniel can just picture the wolfish grin on his face and he can’t help but roll his eyes. He also wonders where Johnny’s ever heard the term downward dog before and how it relates to yoga, of all things. It also figures that’s the only position Johnnyknows and of course, he’d make it sound dirty. “—and the longer it takes you to get home, the better. I’m a bit of a slow learner.”

“As if you’d ever do yoga,” Daniel says, but _God_ help him, if the thought of Johnny, bent over at the waist, ass on display in a tight pair of workout pants in the aforementioned position, doesn’t paint a pretty arousing picture. 

Johnny hums and Daniel wonders how such a small noise can sound sp smug and knowing, all at the same time. “I don’t know, LaRusso, with the right motivation, I might be persuaded.” 

“A 12 pack of Coors Banquet and a vintage Sports Illustrated with Cheryl Tiegs on the cover?”

“Like I’d ever cheat on Elle Macpherson with Cheryl Tiegs of all fucking people,” Johnny says, sounding vaguely scandalized, even though Daniel knows for a fucking fact that Johnny had that poster that every red blooded American teenage boy had featuring the above-mentioned blonde and a teeny, tiny, pink satin bikini. Probably still has it, if Daniel knows Johnny as well as he thinks he does. “And besides, I was thinking a blowjob.”

Daniel makes a choked noise and Johnny’s responding chuckle—rich like velvet and warm like a hot sip of tea on a cold day—sends a shiver racing down his spine, want curing low and hot in his belly. 

“Anyways,” Johnny continues on smoothly, as if they were just talking about the weather or something equally as mundane. “I was just wondering if you were going to be home for dinner.” 

The distant and familiar sound of pots and pans clanging together could be heard over the line accompany the inquiry and if Daniel closes his eyes, he can picture Johnny, dressed in his threadbare jeans and his well loved Zebra t-shirt he pulled on when he rolled out of bed this morning, standing in the middle of their kitchen as he bustles around to make dinner. Despite his penchant for fried lunch meats and meals that came out of a box, Johnny is actually a decent cook, when he actually applies him and is given the proper motivation (a general rule of thumb when it comes to anything concerning Johnny, Daniel has come to learn) and he’s willing to help out and cook dinner for the kids on days when Daniel has to work late or gets stuck at the dojo. 

A pang of regret hits him square in the chest and he looks longingly towards his briefcase hanging neatly on the coat rack tucked away in the corner of his office, where he stashed his car keys this morning before sitting down at his desk. He’s tempted to just say _fuck it_ and go home, because he’d rather be there, with Johnny, than stuck here for another minute, but another glance towards the paper’s scattered around his large desk has him hesitating. 

He knows himself well enough by now to know that there’s no chance of him being able to leave here, go home and not think about the giant stack of paperwork he left behind, unfinished and incomplete all over his desk. It would lurk in the back of his mind, gnaw away at him until he either said screw it and drove back to dealership to get it or he’d spend the whole night tossing and turning until it was socially acceptable for him to get up and go to work to finish it.

(So sue him, he’s an anxious person. It’s probably all the espressos he downs like water, he’s sure it has nothing to do with any of the aforementioned deep seated issues that probably stem back to his formative years, but that’s a lot of trauma to dig through and he’s got enough on his plate as it is so—)

He could bring the paperwork home with him, Daniel supposes. All of the dealership’s files are digitized and he has them backed up on his laptop, so he can, in theory, do all of this in the comfort of his own home. But home meant distractions and distractions meant none of this gets done and then he’s right back to being an anxious mess and he’s no good to anyone when he’s an anxious mess, so—

“I think I’ll just get something delivered here,” Daniel finds himself saying. 

But then he thinks of Johnny, cooking dinner in their kitchen, all by himself and remembers that softly whispered confession, back when they first started this, when Johnny made him spaghetti that was so good, it rivaled his Nonna’s recipe (don’t tell his ma) and Daniel had hidden his surprise by teasing Johnny about his ability to make something other than Chef Boyardi.

“I never said I couldn’t cook,” Johnny had said with a roll of his eyes, but the pleased flush on his cheeks gave him away. “I used to, when Shannon and I were together—she can’t toast bread without burning it—but after we uh, broke up and she took Robby, well,” Johnny bit lip and looked away, twirling the noodles absently around his fork. “There’s no point in cooking when there’s no one to eat it.”

The admission had caught him off guard. It was rare for Johnny to offer up information that left him open and vulnerable and it had completely disarmed Daniel of whatever smart ass retort was on the tip of his tongue. And rather than leave Johnny alone in his vulnerability, Daniel decided to show a little mercy and join him in his vulnerability. 

“When my dad was alive, my mom would cook enough food to feed a small army, so there’d be enough left over for my dad to take to work the next day for lunch,” Daniel remembers saying. “It took her almost a year after he died, to learn how to cook for two instead of three. To stop packing him a lunch to take with him in the morning,” Daniel had shrugged, offering Johnny a sheepish smile. “It took me a while, too, after Amanda and I got divorced. It’s better when I have the kids, but if I don’t—well, let’s just say I’m on a first name basis with UberEats drivers in this area.”

“That’s kind of pathetic, LaRusso,” Johnny had said in response, but Daniel took it for what it was: gratitude, for knowing he wasn’t alone in his feelings. 

So Daniel had rolled his eyes and said, voice dry, “That’s kind of the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think? You’re fifty years old and you still can’t read an expiration date--”

“That’s because I’m not a pansy princess who believes everything the government tells me. Besides, a little penicillin never hurt anyone—”

That led them into a heated debate of government conspiracy theories, whether or not penicillin actually came from bacteria and just how long was too long after the expiration date to eat something. 

They never ate alone—if they could help it—after that. 

Guilt settles like lead in his belly and Daniel fights back a groan of frustration, at himself and the entire situation at hand.

“Okay,” Johnny says easily. “That’s fine, I’ll probably just order a pizza or something.”

“I’m sorry,” Daniel whispers, chewing his bottom lip anxiously. “I know we usually eat dinner together—“

“Hey,” Johnny says, voice unusually soft and it soothes the frayed edges of Daniel’s worry, easing the knot of tension that’s been tying itself tighter and tighter behind his sternum. “It’s okay. I know you’ve got a lot going on right now and I know you—you wouldn't be able sleep tonight knowing all that work is there, waiting for you to finish it,” He pauses and then adds, voice low, “no matter how much I try to wear you out.”

Daniel swallows heavily, shifting in his chair. 

This is exactly why he can’t bring his work home with him. Because Johnny is a distraction. The best kind of distraction, of course, but a distraction nevertheless. 

“You’re not fighting fair,” Daniel complains to Johnny’s laughter. 

“Fighting fair is your thing, LaRusso, not mine,” Johnny reminds. “Anyways, I think I can survive one night without you.”

“Were you really surviving though?” Daniel asks, voice teasing. 

He can practically hear Johnny’s eye roll when he says, “Goodbye, LaRusso.”

“Wait!” Daniel protests, grinning at Johnny’s annoyed huff. 

“What?” Johnny demands, impatient. 

“I love you,” Daniel murmurs, belly swooping with giddy excitement, despite the fact that this isn't the first time he’s said the words—far from it. But it feels like the first time every time he says them. 

“Yeah, I know,” Johnny responds. A pause and Daniel waits. Then, quiet, like it’s a secret, just for them, “I love you, too.”

And despite the fact that there’s a late night ahead of him, there’s a smile on his face when he gets back to the paperwork that’s waiting for him. 

*

His head is buried in his filing cabinet, searching for a stray invoice that somehow didn’t make it to the computer files—he’ll have to talk to Sheila about that in the morning and then get on to Mark, the service department manager, to make sure that the rest of the employees are turning in their work orders and part invoice at the end of each job or else there’s going to be serious issues, because he’ll be damned if he has to deal with the IRS all over his ass because they can’t follow simple procedure—

Anyway, he’s bent over at the waist, his head’s buried in the dark depths of the metal filing cabinet and he’s trying to find a stray piece of paperwork, which, at this rate, is like trying to find a needle in a goddamn haystack when hears—

“Now that’s what I like to see,” followed by a sharp wolf whistle that makes Daniel jump and whack his head sharply against the sharp edge of the filing cabinet with a loud thud that echoes mockingly in his ears. “It’s like you knew I was coming.”

Daniel rubs at the back of his head and shoots Johnny a glare, but he just smirks back, completely unapologetic. 

“You’re an asshole,” Daniel informs him. Some of his ire softens, however, when he sees the to go bag Johnny’s holding. “You brought me dinner,” He says dumbly. And then he completely fucking melts when he notices the logo on the bag. “From my favorite sushi place.”

Johnny flushes, shifting nervously on his feet, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh, I don’t know shit about this stuff, but I tried to order what you usually do, so,” He shrugs his broad shoulders, holding the bag out in offering. “I hope it’s right.”

“But you hate sushi,” Daniel says, taking the bag from him. Their fingers brush and shiver races down his spine at the feeling of Johnny’s calloused fingertips brushing against the back of his hand. 

Johnny smirks and holds up an In-N-Out bag spotted with grease. “That’s why I stopped for this.”

Daniel smiles, shaking his head fondly. “Of course,” he says, digging into his own bag. It’s not only correct, but Johnny also remembered to grab him extra soy sauce and his chopsticks. “That stuff’s gonna give you clogged arteries, you know.”

Johnny plops down in one of the leather chairs across from his desk, taking a hefty bite of his burger. “And that’s going to give you salmonella,” he says, gesturing to the sushi platter with a french fry and no doubt getting crumbs all over Daniel’s clean office floor. “Or make you sprout gills.”

Daniel takes a pointed bite of his sushi. “You can’t get salmonella from fish.”

“It’s literally named after a fish,” Johnny says in his best duh voice. 

“That’s not--” Daniel starts, but he stops himself, shaking his head. “You know what? Never mind. At least I don’t have to worry about being a walking heart attack.”

Johnny shrugs, taking another bite of his burger. “I’m here for a good time, not a long time.” 

Daniel rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight the amused smile if he tries. They eat their respective meals in silence and Daniel enjoys it, basking in Johnny’s company and the food, both of which are amazing, in their own ways. Having Johnny here soothes all the nervous energy he’s been carrying around with him all day, loosening the knots of tension and the strain of working for over fifteen hours. He also hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he had a full platter of delicious sushi sitting in front of him and now he feels ravenous with it, eating half the platter in under five minutes.

“Thank you,” He says, when they’re done and Johnny’s picking up their collective trash. He takes a sip of the green tea Johnny also thought to bring him and he has to stop himself from humming in satisfaction at the warm, earthy taste. “Seriously, you didn’t have to do this.”

Johnny shrugs, aiming for nonchalance but Daniel can see the flush on his cheeks, the shy, almost pleased smile on his lips and it makes him smile, too. “I know I didn’t, but you sounded busy and I figured you’d forget to eat and you’re a pain in the ass when you’re tired and hungry—”

“Hey—” Daniel says indignantly, frowning, but Johnny continues on as if he didn’t hear him, but Johnny’s lips twitch and Daniel knows he’s been heard. 

“—so I decided, to save myself the suffering, I’d bring you dinner,” Johnny explains. “Besides,” he adds, stepping between Daniel’s thighs, placing his hands on the arms of Daniel’s office chair. He smells good, like old spice and their fabric softener, and it invades Daniel’s senses, blanketing him in everything Johnny—his scent, his body heat, the weight of his thighs between Daniel’s. It sends a pang of longing through so sharp, it almost makes him breathless. “I figured, if we’re both here and we have the whole place to ourselves…” He trails off, giving Daniel the patented Johnny Lawrence devil may care smirk that always spells trouble to whoever it’s aimed at and Daniel only has a second to think oh no before Johnny’s kissing him. 

It’s a hot, wet slide of lips and tongue and Daniel groans, sinking his fingers into Johnny’s soft blond hair, tugging him closer, wanting more. Johnny follows him down, climbing into Daniel’s lap and the chair groans in protest under their combined weight, for one heart stopping moment, Daniel fears it’s going to break and send them falling to the floor, but it hold steady and he mentally pats himself on the back, once again, for this fantastic purchase. 

Johnny tastes salty from the fries, tongue sweet from the Coke and Daniel revels in it, wants to drown in all things Johnny Lawrence now and forever. But—

“Johnny--” Daniel murmurs breathlessly, pulling (regrettably) away from Johnny’s kiss swollen lips. Johnny, undeterred, latches on to his jaw, his neck, sucking bruises into his throat, teeth teasing over the skin in a way that makes Daniel keen. “Johnny—”

“Wanna fuck you,” Johnny whispers against his skin and Daniel groans, shivering with a sharp flare of want that curls low and hot in belly, making his cock hard in his slacks. 

“Johnny,” Daniel breathes desperately and he feels Johnny’s lips pull into a smirk against his neck before they’re back on his, kissing him slow and dirty. 

“What do you think, baby?” Johnny murmurs against his lips. “Want me to lay you out on this desk, spread you open with my fingers? Hmm?”

Daniel doesn’t whimper, he doesn’t—

“Or do you want my tongue instead? Get you nice and loose and wet for my cock?” Johnny continues between kisses that get rougher and sloppier with Johnny’s arousal. 

And God, does Daniel want to take him up on his offer, he does, he really, really does, but—

“Johnny, I have to—” Johnny nips his lip and Daniel’s brain short circuits “—I have to get back to—” Johnny’s hands undo his belt, fingers popping open the the button on his slacks, undoing the zipper, “—fuck—work—”

“Uh huh, that’s right,” Johnny whispers, calloused fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his aching cock. “Fuck work.”

Daniel huffs a laugh that turns into a moan with the first stroke of Johnny’s hand on his cock. “No, I mean—” Johnny’s thumb swipes teasingly over the head and Daniel’s hips buck. “—I have to get—shit—get back to—yes, fuck, like that—work—”

Johnny’s thumb drags over his nipple at the same time he twists his wrist and Daniel gives a full body shiver, pleasure shooting down his spine and settling at the base of his spine, where the familiar ache is already starting to form. 

“You were saying?”Johnny asks teasingly, smirking. 

His hair is ruffled, cheekbones flushed, blue eyes dark with want that Daniel’s sure is reflected in his own gaze and it hits Daniel, like a punch to the gut, how much he desires this wonderful, frustrating, distracting man on top of him. The same man that went across town to get Daniel’s favorite sushi to bring to him because he cared about him and his well being. The same man that didn’t want Daniel to eat alone, so he stayed and ate with him. It’s more than that, but it’s the nicest, most thoughtful thing someone’s done for him in a long time and it means that much more that it came from Johnny. 

So, even though he still has a shitton of work left to do, he figures it can wait for the moment. He doesn’t mind letting Johnny win this round. 

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Daniel responds, basking in Johnny’s slow, triumphant smile. “But I do believe I heard you say something about fucking me? Did I hear that right?”

Johnny hums. “If you’d been paying attention, you’d know I’d plan on doing more than just fucking you.”

Daniel nips Johnny’s bottom lip in apology. “Sorry. Remind me?”

Johnny’s eyes are hot when he says, “With pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it :) Thank you so much for your love and continued support, it never goes unnoticed. 
> 
> Until then, please let me know what you think & I'll link the list down below, so don't be shy to give me some suggestions :)
> 
> https://kashimalin-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/178524845380/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts
> 
> Come say hi! You can find me on:
> 
> Tumblr: @victimofthemusic  
> Twitter: @storiesofmylif9  
> Discord: storiesofmylife#7620
> 
> Until next time :)


End file.
